


On Tuesday

by CaptainErica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, dramione - Freeform, little metamorphamagus teddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-29 16:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainErica/pseuds/CaptainErica
Summary: Draco isn't certain what this is, but it might be friendship, it might be leaning toward more... Either way, he's not sure if he's looking forward to figuring it out; it could turn his whole world upside-down, again.





	1. Dragon's Blood

With dragon's blood, as all the books told you, one had to be careful. It was all about precision, what with how potent it was. 12 uses there might be, but all required a good amount of skill to actually successfully complete.

Draco, 23 and cooped up in a small lab in the old apothecary he'd managed to find a job at, stared hard at the potion bubbling before him, eyedropper of dragon blood held delicately between two long fingers while he waits for the exact right time to add it. His mother would be horrified at the state of his robes, he thinks a little distantly, sweat beading on his brow. His mother wouldn't ever have to see these robes, hopefully, so he's pretty sure he can avoid that particular argument; they're his  _ work _ robes, though, honestly, he wears them while brewing so as not to cause harm to his  _ proper _ robes. Not that mother would care; all robes must be impeccable, who knows who you might see.

The potion finally turns the correct color, a murky green, and he squeezes out 4 drops of dragon blood into it, waiting a beat before picking up his ladle to stir it until it turns a shimmery blue; another potion well done. He backs away, setting the ladle down gently beside the cauldron, and then turns to the little timer on the wall beside it, leaning in to set it for 3 hours. That will give the potion time to finish brewing, and himself the time to get some stuff done out front. 

It was a good day, really, a semi-steady stream of customers to keep the clerk at the front busy while he had an incredibly productive morning brewing in the back. Draco preferred days like this, where they were busy enough that the clerks working the register didn't get bored and come looking for him and he was able to get real work done; really beef up their stock for when they're busier because Draco hated having to go out front to help. He hated busy days, hated when there were incompetent people asking ludicrous questions… and that was why he stayed in the back and prayed he looked busy and intense and not like he was hiding, which is what he was doing… hiding.

The clerk isn’t behind the counter, and Draco wonders if he should feel bad that he doesn’t remember their name as he moves around and into the store proper. He also wonders if this means that it’s truly dead in here today, because where would the clerk be if not behind the counter?

“Well, I’m really looking for something that would help with de-icing.” a female voice can be heard saying from deeper in the shop than Draco currently is. His brow furrows slightly, because that voice was familiar to him.

He’s intrigued, but he pushes that back because he hates helping customers, and moves to check on their supply of sleep aids. Part of him is hopeful he'll hear more of this conversation (sleep aids would be directly over the shelf from where the conversation seems to be happening), but mostly it's for stocking purposes. Truly. He's not interested in helping at all…

Except no one has ever come in for ‘de-icing’ products before. And Draco is almost certain the clerk won't be able to help.

“Ah, yes, well…” he hears peripherally as he makes his way down the aisle. “...curious request, really.” and Draco almost stops mid-count when he hears that, opting just to cringe and continue.

“Well, you have a certified potions master, do you not? Are they on hand?” the woman asks, clearly displeased by the clerk, but still sounding polite. Her voice is extremely familiar, Draco thinks, that time especially.

He should move, so that if the clerk comes looking for him he's not obviously across the way, but… well, he can always play that he was busy with his work and hadn't heard everything, which is true. He goes for that, because he hears shuffling, had been distracted so he hadn't listened in, and forces his attention back to his count.

“Mr. Malfoy?” the clerk asks, voice quiet, almost timid, and Draco remembers his name, suddenly; Nigel. 

“Yes, what is it?” He asks, impatience clear in his voice, and he doesn't turn to look at him yet, waiting until he's added the last number to his book.

“Well, we've had an interesting request, you see, and…”

Draco turns his full attention on the boy (a few years younger, a few years below him at Hogwarts). “and you couldn't help the customer?” He prompts, to which Nigel nods carefully, expression almost pleased; Like Draco understanding means he's not upset.

“Yes, well, it's an interesting request, you see, for, um, de-icing products.” Nigel says, and Draco just stares at him a moment, then sighs, gesturing for him to lead the way on to wherever he had left the poor customer.

Draco should have expected it, he knew he’d recognized the voice, the tones in it, and here she is right in front of him. “Granger?” 

“Oh, Malfoy.” Granger says, almost surprised, and Draco expects something more. He expects her to have a look of revulsion on her face, expects her to decide to go somewhere else but…

But maybe he doesn’t know her as well as he always thought he did. Maybe he’s conflating Weasley’s reaction to him from school with how Granger might react to him. Maybe he just doesn’t understand how she works, and how she grew as a person from the war.

“I’m looking for de-icing products, you wouldn’t happen to have anything? Or perhaps know of anything that could help with, well, de-icing?” She asks, as if she’s completely over the fact that he’s Draco Malfoy, stepping forward to gently and subtly tell Nigel he’s unneeded now.

Draco is quiet for a moment, considering, but also confused and trying to get over his clear misconception. “I suppose the first question I need answered is the type of… ice… that you are dealing with.” He says, slower, gesturing for her to follow him down an aisle.

“If, say, one were to have a godson whose magic is just starting to show up… and he’s most likely to cause everything to...freeze.” She says, careful, almost embarrassed; like she can’t believe that she can’t personally handle it.

“Novel.” Draco says, almost a joke, but more like he finds it intriguing, which he does. “Is there water involved or is it any object?” He asks as they make it down to the end of a row.

“It was interesting at first, but now I just need to  _ fix it _ .” Granger says, sighing a little, shaking her head like she’s exasperated but also amused. 

Draco hums thoughtfully, a half smile on his lips as he turns his eyes to the shelf to consider their options. “Well, we could try a mixture of some rather mundane herbs…” he murmurs, plucking a couple of small containers off the shelves before holding them out for her.

“Cinnamon, ginger, and... “ She squints, her voice full of confusion, “Turmeric?” ending on a question, her eyes jump up to his, an eyebrow raised. “Really?” 

Draco rolls his eyes, opting for haughty, a little like he’s looking down on her, but she seems to be ignoring it as she continues to look up at him, waiting for an answer. He sighs, put upon. “Warming.” He says simply. “They’re used for warming, so one could assume…” he leads, like he’s being patient with her.

Granger rolls her eyes and holds her hand out for him to deposit the three containers in them. “How would you suggest I use them?” She asks, head tilting just a little.

“It will depend on what you’re using them  _ on. _ ” He says, ushering her  up to the front with a nod of his head and a short gesture of his hand.

On Tuesday of the next week Draco is brewing the  _ Wolfsbane _ potion. It’s difficult, but rewarding in that way that only the most difficult and complicated things are when completed. Granger walks through the front door of the shop just after he’s finished setting a timer for it. He only knows because Nigel calls out a hello. 

“Is Mal- Mr. Malfoy here, Nigel?” She asks, and Draco hears it from where he’s come up to his desk by the door. He decides to pretend he doesn’t hear it.

“Yes, of course, should I? I’ll just, just get him for you.” Nigel says, and Draco just rolls his eyes to himself, a sneer gracing his face that he only barely hides when Nigel peeks into the room, head turning until he finds him. “Miss Granger is here to see you.”

Draco gives him a look that he’s sure the boy doesn’t understand, and then sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright.” He says, stepping back from his workbench and straightening himself out as Nigel disappears back out front. 

“De-icing went well, mostly.” Granger says as he steps fully into view behind the counter, and he takes note of the lack of proper greeting with a raised brow. 

“Mostly?” 

She sighs, stepping back as Draco makes his way around the counter, only to step closer again when he just leans a hip against the counter from her side and crosses his arms. “Well, there were some things that took a little more… direct approach.” She says, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, focus on Draco as she speaks and he kind of likes that; it’s like she’s fully engaged in what she’s saying, in the potential conversation.

“Well, then I will have to assume that you’ve a new problem.” He says, almost leading, interested. He kind of likes that Hermione Granger is asking  _ him _ for help. 

She sighs and shakes her head a little, that half-exasperated smile on her face. “Well, it’s no longer Teddy causing problems, it’s, well, do you remember the blast-ended skrewts?” She asks, almost apologetic, and it’s probably because the look on Draco’s face is most definitely one of horror.

“Right. Fire this time.” He says, shifting away from the counter to lead her down a different aisle, a little hasty.

On Friday, Draco has barely finished filling one bottle of the wolfsbane he’d been completing on Tuesday when the shop door opens and he  _ just knows _ it’s Granger. He sighs, sets the bottle down, wipes off his hands, and heads to the front; it’s too early for Nigel.

“Oh thank goodness.” She says, and she looks windswept and a little frantic; hair previously very neat, eyes wide. “I was hoping you’d be the first in.” 

Draco blinks, pushes past the shock of that, and nods, expression cool and almost bored. “Wolfsbane is delicate, I had to pull it off the heat.” 

Granger opens her mouth, like she’s got another question now that he’s said that, but shakes her head and gives him a little look. “Next time I’ll ask, but for now…” She says, and then she’s setting a cage he hadn’t noticed her carrying onto the counter and nudging it closer to his side. “Fix it.” She says, and he blinks, taken aback, and turns his focus away from the bewildering woman and onto the cage.

“Is that.. Is that Weasley?”He asks, both fascinated and horrified, stood closer and bent down so he can see.

Granger blushes, which he only catches part of because he’s looking up at her from his bent over position in front of the tiny cage. “You remember ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’?” She asks, and the blush reveals itself to have been from annoyance and not embarrassment, which Draco feels a little pleased to note. He nods, and she continues. “Well, George is working on some type of, oh, ridiculous something-or-other and  _ this idiot _ ,” she says, gesturing to the cage wherein lay a bright orange salamander with tufts of hair, “decided it  _ couldn’t hurt _ to try some of it.” She huffs, clearly displeased, rolling her eyes at the idea.

Draco blinks, standing up slowly. “They don’t have an antidote?” He asks, only realizing after he’s said it that  _ they _ should have been  _ he _ and now wonders if she’ll think he’s totally awful for that slip.

She just shakes her head, though, “No, George hasn’t finished it yet, wasn’t testing it on  _ people _ yet, so now we’ve got  _ this _ .” She says, gesturing to the cage.

“Do you have the potion?” He asks, hopeful on that end, and she nods, slapping a little bottle down next to the cage. “We won’t talk about  _ how _ I got it, but here it is. I’d have tried to figure out an antidote myself, but I’m late for work as is, and…” She trails off and sighs, “I don’t really fancy fucking it up further, you see?” She says, and Draco doesn’t say that she’s clearly okay with  _ him _ fucking it up, but she seems to not mean it that way, so maybe it’s alright.

“I’ll see what I can do, no promises for a fast result.” He says, businesslike, not near as informal as she’d been, but he thinks she caught the look on his face, the almost casual look it had adopted while she was speaking. 

Granger nods, giving him a warm smile. “I’ll come back at lunch, like 2? I’d say after work, but I’m likely to be out late tonight.”

Draco’s gnawing his lower lip while she speaks, eyes on the creature in the cage, considering. “I’ll owl if I have something for you to see by 2; have the Wolfsbane to finish first after all, so plan to come when you’re out of work.” He says, and she nods, an odd look on her face when he looks up for her reaction that she slowly hides behind a thankful smile.

“Alright, after work, then.” She says, before disappearing out into the morning hustle and bustle.

Draco stares after her for a moment, then looks down at the salamander with a distinct frown. “Let’s see what we can do for Miss Granger, then.” he says, levitating the cage and grabbing the bottle Granger had left and heading back into his work room. Before he shuts the door, he flips over the ‘do not disturb’ sign, and then shuts it soundly.

At 6pm he’s working on a third possible antidote, notes about the original potion strewn over his desk and stuck to the wall above him. Weasley is walking circles around the cage Granger had brought him in, and Draco is pretty close, he feels, to breaking the antidote.

The bell on the front door jingles, and Nigel makes a surprised sound, but Draco is focused so he doesn’t hear what’s said next, the stammered disagreement from Nigel, the confident blow off from Granger, and then the door is being opened and he starts, sitting up abruptly and hitting his head on one of the over-hanging shelves over his desk.

“Ow - what is it Nigel?” he demands, wincing with a hand against his head, turning abruptly and then losing all of his temper at the sight of who it actually is in the room disturbing him. “Oh, I thought you’d be by later, or…” he trails off, looking for a clock to confirm the time.

Granger chuckles softly, shaking her head, amusement tempered by silent concern behind her eyes. “Should I give you a moment, for your head or?” she asks, and apparently the amusement won out, and Draco is a little shocked by that, but he recovers well; always does.

“I will survive.” he says, a half smile on his face, almost a smirk. “I haven’t finished it yet, the antidote, the potion Weasley created is complex, I’m…” he trails off, doesn’t want to admit that he might be stumped, turning back to his scattered notes. The salamander stops its pacing and turns to look at Granger, climbing partly up the sides of the cage. “This might work.” he says, holding out the page he’d been working on before she interrupted, as if he hadn’t trailed off previously.

Granger’s eyes light up and she steps closer, clearly fresh from an eye roll. “And are these the components of the original potion?” she asks after a moment, eyes up on a tacked up piece of scratch paper. Draco nods, and Granger makes a little humming sound. “So you’re using these to counteract each?” She asks, like a small clarification, taking his most recent antidote notes and clearly matching them against the original potion.

“Sort of. It’s not quite that easy, there were a couple of charms and spells used.” he says, looking up at the list. “Have to undo the active ingredients, and…” he trails off, blinking for a second, eyes following the movement of Granger’s finger as it moves between ingredients. “Oh, that’s it…” he says, stealing the parchment back from Granger and grabbing a quill to scribble out his new thought.

“Oh, will this work, you think?” she asks, reading over his shoulder. Normally he hates that, but he’s making an exception now because he likes the tone of her voice, like she’s impressed by him. 

“It should.” he says, pushing his chair back slowly. “I’ll start now…” he says, turning for one of his cauldrons, eyes already scanning rows of ingredients for what he needs. 

“Let me just…” Granger says, and then she’s gone, but Draco only barely notices, focus sharp on his new task. 

She’s back less than an hour later, he supposes though he’s not very aware of the time right now, with food, and then she’s insisting she help him, bossing him around his own work room. He listens more than she expects, more than he, himself, expects, but then they have to let the potion simmer, so they step back.

They eat the food Granger had brought, warming charms bringing it back to a temperature worth eating it at, and Granger talks the whole time. It’s better that she’s speaking, keeps him from thinking about this too much, from considering the fact that they’re sharing a meal and discussing potions.

Her questions are mostly about the Wolfsbane potion, seemingly surprised that he brews it, and he’s not sure he’s ready to tell her why  _ he _ of all people is comfortable brewing this potion, but…

“They’re people, too, Granger, I know you must know that, bleeding heart that you are.” he says after a little bit, uncomfortable with her questioning, her incessant quest for knowledge. 

She rolls her eyes, brushing this aside, “Yes, of course I know that, honestly Malfoy.” She says, like that’s not what she’d been asking him about. It wasn’t, really, she’d asked him a lot of questions, but they’d been all at once and he’d focused on one. “But how do they know to come to you for it? You know we’re working to fix the registry, so it’s more like the animagus one, but… well, obviously it can’t be  _ exactly _ like that… We want it to be inclusive, Harry and I, we’re working on a bill, in honor of Professor Lupin, you remember him?” She asks, and there she goes again, more questions with no breath in between, more information that he has to digest at the same time.

“Yes, Snape let slip he was a werewolf over breakfast end of the year that year, I remember.” he says, a little moue of distaste on his lips, crossing over his face. “Poor taste, really.” he adds, eyebrows knitting together. He hadn’t cared about Professor Lupin, not then, but he’d been a stupid 13-year-old. He’s older now.

Granger chuckles, almost rueful, shaking her head. “Is that when you figured it out?” she asks, and there’s a teasing glint in her eye, but he shouldn’t be looking there, so he looks away and adopts a haughty look.

“Not all of us had  _ time _ for snooping.” He says, and it makes her laugh, which he isn’t certain was his intention.

“No, no I suppose not.” She says, grinning at him, warm, and Draco isn’t used to this type of open emotion; she’s so expressive. She sighs and shakes her head, brushing her unruly hair back out of her face. “You’ve given me an idea, though; a list of safe apothecaries, or safe stores. Places that are open to serving and helping werewolves…” She murmurs, sitting back against the wall where she’s perched on the edge of his desk. He makes a little face, just like he had when she’d sat down there, but doesn’t comment on  _ that. _

“I don’t own this shop, Granger.” he says quietly, almost quelling. She looks over at him then, doesn’t really turn her head, just looks at him. 

“Safe wizards, too.” she says, thoughtful, smile coming late. “How long on the potion, d’you think?” she asks, switching tacks. He’s going to think about the Wolfsbane questions for a while though, they’ll haunt him for the next week at least.

“Let’s see what color it is.” he says, thoughtful, standing up, wanting to get away from the desk, suddenly. It’s the right color, he thinks, after a little bit of deliberation, and so he removes it from the heat and pulls some up into a dropper. “Take him out?” he asks, and she nods, backing away and then opening the cage to grab Weasley.

She sets him on the ground in the middle of the empty work space, and steps back, looking up at Draco and nodding. “Alright, go ahead.” she says and there’s confidence in her tone, Draco likes that; she’s confident in him. Hermione Granger is confident in him, Draco Malfoy.

He squeezes a few drops of the antidote onto the orange salamander, and then steps back, looking up at Granger as he does so. She’s smiling at him, warm, then she looks down at the salamander, biting her lower lip, waiting and then…

“Bloody hell!” Weasley shouts, and Draco thinks that’s rather rude.

On Thursday, almost a full week since he’d turned Weasley back into a human, he’s checking the stock of health potions at the front window, a task he generally tries to avoid. He’s trying to keep busy, has been since last Friday, because he had been right: the Wolfsbane questions were rattling around in his brain and he couldn’t get rid of them. The front door opens, then closes, and he refuses to look because he wants Nigel to deal with it if they need help; he’s not here for customer service.

“Malfoy.” Granger says pleasantly from beside him.

He blinks, turning to look at her, his clipboard and quill freezing in mid-air. “Granger?” he says, just the hint of a question, but she’s smiling at him, so he’s not in trouble. He’s not sure what he could possibly have been in trouble  _ for _ but he’s not in trouble and that’s what matters.

“What are your thoughts on water?” She asks, and he frowns a little. 

“Necessary for survival?” He suggests, “Not my favorite thing to walk through?”

Granger laughs, then shakes her head. “Nor mine, really.” She says, the smile remaining in her eyes. “This might not be something you can fix, but my office is currently home to a large number of, well,  _ dark _ creatures. Like hinkypunks, you know?” She asks, and Draco desperately wants to ask why, but he’s been blindsided by this information, so he’s silent for now. “And aside from the water stains that I’ve spent the better part of the last two days trying to rid myself of, I’ve noticed a problem with the water…”

“Well, first, I would suggest getting them out of your office.” He says, straight-faced and fairly reasonable.

Granger rolls her eyes at him, but she’s grinning. “Okay,  _ barring that _ idea, as I can’t for the moment, and I promise I’ll tell you about it  _ later _ …” She says, quelling, and Draco wonders if that means they’re friends of some sort before he pushes that aside as he crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

“Fine, then what, pray tell, is so incorrect about the water in the hideous creature tanks?” He asks, and she doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t laugh, just launches into a long-winded description of how the water wasn’t just simply  _ murky _ it was  _ dirty _ but it was new water, apparently.

He listens for a solid 3 minutes before he realizes he’s fully frowning and doesn’t need the kind of wrinkles that could cause (his mother would be horrified).

“I’m not very… versed on water.” he says, slow, walking her surreptitiously toward the back room, clearly thinking. “But it might have to do with the things within the water, you said there were plants and rocks as well as the creatures?” he asks, clarification, moving into his work space and finding the shelf he wants. He reaches up, careful, long fingers tracing spines as he looks for something. “And they would all, presumably, need something different from the water, correct?” he asks as he pulls things down.

It takes Granger a couple moments longer than expected to answer him, and he actually gets a little impatient, wondering if he’d managed to lose her and realizing how awful that would be… but she’s just watching him, he finds when he looks back.

“I know I’m a sight to behold, but…” he says, deliberate, an almost-challenge, eyebrow rising suggestively, and she rolls her eyes, shaking her head (but it doesn’t hide the blush creeping high on her cheeks).

“You’re right, of course, that would make the most sense.” She says, and he’s pleased she was listening, so he turns back to find another book as she comes forward to take the two he’d already pulled down. “Research.” She adds, with a little sigh, a smile there. “Ah, Malfoy, you don’t have all the answers, that’s good.” she murmurs, clearly for herself. “You won’t be upset if I come back after work, will you? Only I’m here on my lunch break.” She says, a little guiltily.

It’s only after she’s left, with promises to return, that the thought strikes him about how odd it is that she came all the way to him for answers. She worked at the Ministry, she had a pretty good job if the papers were to be believed; why didn’t she go to any of  _ her own _ potions masters?

Draco spends most of the rest of the day looking through his books, considering different possibilities. It doesn’t occur to him until it’s almost 6:30pm that this is something for a herbologist, or a magizooligist, and definitely not a potions master. By this point, however, he’s got pages of notes and a separate piece of parchment with the few ideas he’s had, listed out by point with small scratch diagrams beside each, hanging up above his head.

There’s an owl waiting patiently by the window, but he’s been ignoring it for the past half hour, busy with his realization that he shouldn’t be dealing with this and continuing to search anyway. He doesn’t notice when the door is pushed open, used to ignoring that, but he  _ does _ notice, when a hand is placed on his shoulder.

“The owl was well pleased to be rid of this letter.” Granger says, and Draco closes his eyes, fights the urge to bring a hand to his chest over his frantically beating heart. She sets the letter before him, and he glances at it, frowning, before shaking his head.

“Mother knows where I am if she wants to speak to me.” He mutters, pushing the letter off to the side. “But you’ve come for news on your water problem.” He says, louder, and he’s not looking at her, eyes roaming over the messy notes and open books on his desks, so he misses the soft way she was looking at him, misses the way her eyes snap back to attention, a soft blush dusting her upper cheeks.

“Well, yes, I’ve also brought dinner, as I correctly assumed you wouldn’t have eaten yet.” She says, and he blinks a little, then turns to look at her, a little incredulous. “I’m not much of a cook, so it’s take out like last time, but on the bright side I can confirm it’s good.” She says, like she’s proud of herself, smiling at him. 

“Right.” He says, but she’s not derailed by his slow responses, she just looks around and then transfigures a couple of boxes into a chair, and another into a little table that she nudges up beside his cluttered desk, and then she drops the bag of food on top. 

“We can eat and talk, yeah?” She suggests, gesturing toward his notes as she gets the bag to unpack itself.

Draco is quiet for another moment longer, just watching her, a soft frown of confusion on his lips, before he sits up, drags a hand through his hair, and moves some of his notes over for her to see, setting them to floating beside the table as she’s taken it over with the food, and slowly starts to explain what he’s learned.

“Hmm, yes, I think there’s a term for that, a scientific term… oh, it’s used for pools… Ph! That’s it, the ‘ph’ balance.” she says, and Draco has no idea what that is, but he tables that, letting her wave her hand and erase it for another, later conversation. “So, your thoughts?” She prompts, because Draco prides himself on staying on topic and hadn’t delved into his own thoughts previously.

He’s not sure if  _ Granger _ likes that he does that, but she doesn’t  _ have to. _ “I’m not qualified to help Kappas survive in tanks in your office.” He says, deadpan, and she blows out an amused breath through her nose and rolls her eyes, crossing her legs and tilting her head and he sighs,  _ beaten. _ “I have a few theories, but I would need more information to give actual recommendations.” he says, and she hums, nodding a little.

“Let me see?” She asks, eyes scanning the parchment pieces hanging around them. With a flick of his wand these order themselves neatly on his desk, and he reaches up for the list he’d left hanging over his desk. 

“This is it.” He says, almost defensive because he feels, for some reason, like he should have been able to help her more completely. “They’re more… the important things I could pull together…”

Granger hums, taking the list and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thorough.” She murmurs, almost teasing. Draco looks away at that, almost embarrassed. “Do you have most of the possible supplies?” She asks after a couple of minutes, and Draco blinks, looking up at her from his desk. He’d moved there, standing over it, to look at the letter from his mother while she read over the list.

“Yeah, out front.” He says, turning slowly from his desk to bring her out.

“You shouldn’t ignore your mother, you know.” She says, clearly having caught him considering her letter. 

Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, she knows where to find me, as I said.” He replies, ushering her out into the shop and around the counter to find her what she’s decided she wants.


	2. Invitation

Granger comes back on Tuesday, and Draco isn’t prepared for this because his mother is there, for one thing, and because he honestly hadn’t expected her to have weekly potions crises. Though, at this point, he should have assumed.

“How did you manage before you found my shop?” He asks, emboldened by his mother being there, just out of eyesight. It would be good for her to know that he’s on pretty good terms with Hermione Granger.

Granger grins at him a little like she’s startled, probably because he’s being so pleasant. “I had to do it all myself, and it was terrible.” She says, laughing softly and shaking her head. “But I’m actually not in need of any potions today… yet.” She says, grinning up at him. 

Draco raises an eyebrow, almost like he doesn’t believe her. “Oh?” He asks, just shy of teasing, face giving nothing away.

“Oh stop, it’s impossible to have a crisis every week! Now, here, Harry asked me to invite you to Teddy’s birthday party.” She says, producing an envelope with dark green ink on the front. “As you’re actually cousins, you know.” She adds, shrugging. “It’ll be fun.” 

Draco is speechless, hadn’t expected that at all, but he accepts the envelope and nods a little. “I’ll consider.” He says, “Tell Potter I appreciate the invitation.” He adds, polite but uncertain if that was necessary. Granger just grins at him and nods, stepping back.

“I’ll see you later, got to get to work!” She says, smiling and turning to go. She waves at Nigel as she leaves, and then she’s gone and Draco just stands there, forgetting his mother is there, forgetting about Nigel (who is blissfully not paying attention to him).

“What’s this?” Narcissa asks, plucking the letter from his hands, eyes running over the front before opening the envelope and pulling the invitation out. Not for one second does Draco believe she hadn’t heard the interaction between he and Granger, but he lets that slide.

“An invitation, apparently.” He says, disaffected, gesturing for her to go into the back room with him. “Hand-delivered by Miss Granger, as you no doubt noticed.” he adds, but his mother doesn’t react outwardly to that.

She makes a soft sound, thoughtful, as she reads over the invitation, and the way her eyes are moving over the parchment could almost be considered  _ hungry. _ “Interesting. You’ll be attending, of course?” She asks, looking up at him, careful but she’s not looking for him to argue with her.

Draco sighs, running a hand through his hair and moving over to his desk. There are notes all over it, about things for Granger, about questions he wants to ask her, and he waves his wand, making it tidy itself up. “I suppose, though I will admit to thinking it will be uncomfortable.”

Narcissa sighs softly, setting the invitation down on his desk and reaching up to fix his hair, which he hates. “Andromeda isn’t… I’m sure you will be fine. After all, Miss Granger herself delivered the invitation. It seems like I can assume you are on comfortable terms.”

Draco snorts, looking down at the invitation, sitting innocuous and simple on his desk. “Hm, yes,  _ comfortable terms _ .” He murmurs, “It does sort of seem so, doesn’t it?” He muses, but his mother has moved on, plucking at his robes.

“You’ll need to have better robes, of course, your wardrobe is looking shabby lately.” She says, distaste written plainly across her face.

On Thursday he replies, saying that he will attend. On Friday, Granger stops in with Potter, and Draco hadn’t expected to see her twice in one week like this. Shouldn’t think like that, like he looks forward to seeing her, like he hopes to see her,  _ like he has pages of notes dedicated to what he wants to talk to her about. _

“It’s fine, he’s back here.” Draco hears from the other side of the door to his work room, and he frowns from where he’s standing in front of his shelves, doing an inventory of his stock. Why was Granger here?

“Should we be bothering him, Hermione?” and Draco actually pauses, because that is  _ Potter _ if it’s anyone. Granger he could deal with, had been dealing with. He’d briefly dealt with Weasley, but it was incredibly briefly, but why would she bring Potter with her?

“He’ll be fine.” Granger says, knocking lightly on the door, and he wonders if Nigel isn’t out there right now, he should be dealing with these things. “Malfoy? Are you still here?” She asks, and he sighs before flicking his wand so the door opens.

“Of course I am.” He drawls, turning to look at them slowly. “Was Nigel still there?” he asks, a little pointed, like maybe they should have waited out front. It’s a front for Potter, really, and Granger ignores it like he hadn’t meant anything by it anyway, moving to look over his desk, Potter left awkwardly at the door.

“Yes, he was tidying, he said he didn’t know if you were still here or not, apparently you’ve been silent for  _ hours. _ ” She says, amused by it, clearly. 

Draco sighs softly, shaking his head just a little, eyes following her, Potter forgotten for the moment. “Well, he’s not very bright.” He says, dismissive. “Must you touch everything?” he asks, and there’s a bit of heat creeping into his cheeks; Potter notices and thinks it’s interesting, but Draco isn’t looking at him.

“Yes,” She says, and Draco wrinkles his nose, annoyed, realizes he’s doing it and stops immediately. “Remind me to ask you about some of these…” She adds, tapping her finger against the stack of notes he very embarrassingly had written her name on  _ somewhere. _

Draco rolls his eyes and turns pointedly to look at Potter, and Granger follows his eyes very politely, and smiles (not as polite as she should be, really, she should be apologizing for dragging Potter in here in the first place). 

“Harry had a question about Wolfsbane, and since you RSVP’d, I figured I’d bring him along to hear you say it instead of me coming and then having to repeat it all.” She says, though the look on her face and the way she said it said something more along the lines of: I would have dearly loved to do just that but Potter likes to be  _ involved. _

Draco makes a little sound of understanding, nodding briefly. “Ask away.” He says with a slight tilt to his head, but Potter shakes his head. 

“You’re basically done here for the night, yeah? We can talk over dinner?” Potter suggests, and Draco doesn’t think he likes this but he nods slowly, ignoring the way Granger’s eyes light up as she smiles.

“I just need to-” he gestures around him vaguely, and they nod, retreating, Granger talking happily with Potter as she walks him out of the back room. He panics for a short moment over what he’ll  _ wear _ but then forces himself to calm down and finishes his tally with a wave of his wand, sending the parchment to the front desk for Nigel immediately after. He shakes his head, stretches out his neck a little, and then takes off his working robe to replace it with the one he’d worn in.

He throws his coat over his arm and leaves the room, shutting and locking the door with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t forget the order, Nigel.” He says as he steps out from around the counter, and Nigel nods, wide-eyes, probably surprised that Draco is actually  _ doing something _ . 

“Oh great, you’re ready!” Granger says as he comes closer to them. “I was just telling Harry about this restaurant, but  _ he _ thinks we should get curry, have you had curry? Harry assumes you have, on account of the travelling he  _ also _ assumes you’ve done.” She says, and there she goes again with her excessive of information mixed with questions. 

Draco turns a slightly confounded look on Potter, which is surprisingly replied to with an eye roll and a commiserating type of smile. “Well, I’ve traveled, but I’m not sure what kind of curry you might be referring to.” he says, a little superior sounding, which makes Granger roll her eyes good-naturedly. “I will follow where you lead.” He adds, and that makes her flush just a little, high on her cheeks, and he likes that, he thinks, likes the way her eyes shine…

“Let’s go, then.” Potter suggests, and Draco misses the pointed look he sends Granger, but she doesn’t, her eyes rolling as she turns away with a bit of a huff. 

On Saturday, Draco mulls over the night before as he stares unseeingly at the Prophet. His breakfast is mostly untouched, pushed a little off to the side, and he’s frowning, trying to understand how this had really come about. He was attending his…  _ cousin’s _ birthday party tomorrow at Potter’s house, and he’d spent the night previous having a remarkably good time at dinner with both Potter and Granger. 

The lack of Weasley had been the first thing on his mind, and the last thing brought up, just as they were finally considering leaving.  _ Oh, Ron has his girlfriend to spend Friday nights with, you know... _ He hadn’t  _ really _ asked, had only  _ sort of _ hinted that he was interested. Draco was still considering what the lack of mention of the female Weasley might mean, he hadn’t heard anything about her lately, aside from that she’d joined the Holyhead Harpies.

The conversation at dinner had been part business but mostly general academic interest, which Draco found strange coming from Potter, all of it was strange but… Granger hadn’t been lying when she’d said that she and Potter were working on some type of legislation.  _ We’ll need a potions master on our side, you know, working with us, I’m… we’re certain there is more that can be done, more that can be used to help them… _ And in fact it was more than that, and maybe Granger’s interest in him was just in his skills, in his usefulness in his, in, in his…

“She’s not  _ interested _ in me.” he says out loud, disgusted with himself. But the memory of her blush, high on her cheeks and light, haunts him for the rest of the day.

On Sunday, his mother floos to tell him that he’s a disgrace and she’s making his father take her shopping straight away because no son of hers is going to go out with the  _ Saviour of the Wizarding World _ in the outdated robes he was seen wearing last Friday. The fact that it had taken this long to get back to her is surprising; he’d expected a visit from her yesterday. He tells her he’d been at work before they accosted him, and mentions that he’s been wanting something in either blue or charcoal grey for a while now before saying goodbye.

He glares at his reflection for a little while, wondering why he’d decided to go (dinner was pleasant and not entirely uncomfortable, but it’s not like any of them are  _ friends _ ). Eventually, Draco convinces himself to leave, and he’s vaguely surprised when he arrives: he’s been here before. He enters with a bit of a frown, but it’s not unpleasant, it’s thoughtful.

“Malfoy, glad you could make it.” Potter says, stepping back as Draco enters, the door closing behind him on its own. “You can-”

“Draco!” Granger says, appearing right behind Potter, clearly having been curious as to who it could be. “Give me your coat, come on.” She says, beckoning him along. 

He has to skirt around Potter, who stays by the door, amused but not offended, and Draco just nods to him before greeting her and doing as he’s told. She vanishes his coat once he’s handed it off, and then leads him down the cramped hallway, giving him a short, simple tour. They pass a few people as they wander, none upstairs, but more going in and out of the kitchen area (he only barely gets a passing glance from any of them after they say hello).

“It’s kind of cramped, actually, considering the family history, I had expected it to be bigger.” She says as they come to a stop just outside the main room where all the guests are. “And then coming back here, after everything, I had forgotten how small it really felt, but I suppose…”

Draco nods, eyes wandering the small little hall area they’ve stopped in. “Not all of these old families could have land out in Wiltshire.” he says, a small smile on his face, because he can only assume she’d been comparing this place to the manor. “I’ve been here before, though, when I was young.” he says, thoughtful again; it looked almost completely different than he remembered.

“Oh! Yes.” Granger says, clapping her hands together. “I guess you might have, of course, you know, you’re on the tapestry in the drawing room, Harry and I have been debating what we want to do with it, though I managed to restore the people Sirius’s mother had burned off…” She’s talking a mile a minute again, and Draco just smiles, though a soft blush rides high on his cheekbones, perhaps because of the knowledge that he’s in their drawing room, but he can’t be certain.

“You’ll have to show me, later.” He says, soft and far less enthusiastic sounding than Granger had been, but he knows she understands. 

“I will.” she says, then turns and pushes the door open, ushering Draco in and then introducing him to Teddy, 7-years-old today and with hair a color that Draco is certain can’t be natural. He’s introduced to his aunt, next, and it’s a bit of a shock, really, had always known of her but hadn’t known much about her.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She says, earnest and quiet, and Granger leaves him there, and it’s only because of his upbringing that he doesn’t panic outright. Andromeda is pleasant, though, interesting, different from how he had imagined her. He could see his mother in her, in the way she sat, hear it in her voice and the way she talked.

The little boy comes back to see him after presents have been opened, and Draco hopes he isn’t going to thank him again for the gift, but supposes that would only be polite. His aunt smiles and shakes her head a little, like she knows it’s not going to be something quite so easy.

“You’re on the tree in the other room.”

Draco nods, a little wary, “so I’ve been told.” he says, and the boy squints a little, looking him over, and then his hair changes, blonde and tousled, and Draco only doesn’t reach for his own, immaculate hair because he knows better.

“Are you my cousin?” Teddy asks, and Draco frowns a little, considering that for a moment.

“In some way, yeah.” He says, and Teddy accepts that for the moment, he can tell, in much the same way he can tell now when Granger wants to ask more, that there’s more brimming under the surface. Teddy, however, seems a little less impulsive than Granger in this one regard.

Teddy steps forward just a little, tilting his little head with his blond hair, “So we’re family.” He confirms, and Draco nods. “Who’s Aunt Narcissa?” he asks, and Draco smiles.

“My mother, she’d be your… great aunt, possibly, though I’m not entirely certain.” he says, turning to his own aunt who nods, gaining Teddy’s attention.

“His mother is my sister.” She says, holding out a hand that Teddy takes, coming closer to her easily. “Maybe you’ll meet her soon.” She says, turning to look at Draco, thoughtful.

Draco gets a little antsy as people start to leave, as Granger is busy and he feels rude leaving without saying goodbye, especially after his aunt leaves and he doesn’t have anyone else to really talk to. He’s considering what to do, someone he only vaguely remembers the name of trying to talk to him about  _ something _ , when Granger comes up and catches his eye, effectively giving him a way out of the conversation.

“I’m glad you’re still here.” She says, warm. “I didn’t expect to get so side-tracked, but I saw you had some time with Andromeda? She’s truly amazing, you know.” She says, and Draco smiles, his face softening with it.

“She seems to be… different from what I had imagined in my youth.” He says, considering his words carefully. “I will admit to being glad I came.” He adds, and Granger grins.

Draco doesn’t see Granger that week, though his mother gets an owl from his aunt, which then turns into multiple owls and then a plan for tea over the weekend. 

It’s Tuesday of the week after when Draco finally breaks down. He wants someone  _ interesting _ to talk to. He wants someone who asks too many questions and gives too much information to talk to. He’s bored with his friends, with the conversations he has during the day, with the people he visits for dinner, or tea, and he only allows himself to admit what he wants on  _ Tuesday. _

He doesn’t really know what she does, so he doesn’t want to send her an owl during the day: it would go to the Ministry and he’s not sure she would appreciate it, can’t tell yet. He waits until after he’s returned home, and then sends her a little note, the beginning of a question he’d mulled over a few weeks previously; something to get her attention.

On Wednesday he doesn’t see Granger, doesn’t receive a response, and is very unhappy. His notes of things to talk to Granger about somehow grows still despite this.

On Thursday, Granger walks in the front door at 9am, dressed in comfortable-looking clothes and not robes like she usually has on. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she’s got a bag slung over her shoulders. Draco hears her from his work room, the door open. 

“Hi Nigel, Malfoy’s here already, yeah? I’m just going to go back.”

He’s not expecting her to be dressed so casually, eyes taking her in without his consent before he looks back at his notes. “Granger.” he says, almost a question, but still welcoming. “It’s been a while.”

She makes an amused sound, and he can only imagine she’s rolling her eyes at him. “I took the day off, so you’ll have to as well.” She says. “I’ve been thinking about that question you sent since I got it, and I need answers.” 

Draco turns and looks up at her, eyebrow raised. “I’ll have to as well?” He asks, almost a challenge, and she drops a hand to her hip. 

“You can’t just ask that kind of open-ended question and  _ not _ take the day off. Come on, you don’t even have anything brewing right now, Nigel will be fine.” She says, and he doesn’t make it easy despite already having decided to do it. 

He waits a couple of moments, looking at her, trying to stare her down, before he sighs and shakes his head. “Oh alright.” he says, shuffling his notes. “You’re impossible, I hope you’re aware.” He adds as he stands, and he misses the bright smile on her face, but he can hear it in her voice. 

“Oh, I am.” She says, heading for the door, barely waiting for him. “There’s a cafe I go to sometimes, in London, I’ve got plenty of books for now.” She says, patting her bag, walking them past the counter.

Draco turns to Nigel as she’s talking, tells him he’ll be out for the day, and then catches up to her, pretending he’s been listening as she leads him down the street: bossy and talkative.

Draco’s not sure what this is. Not sure he wants to know what this is. But  _ whatever _ this might be… he likes it. The easy way Granger talks to him; the way her eyes light up when she’s explaining something; the way she laughs; the way she effortlessly and seamlessly forced her friends on him… It’s all something he can’t define, but doesn’t think he cares to, either. Not yet.


	3. Fin

On Saturday Draco makes an exception to his normal working rule and goes into the shop to get back on track for Monday after Thursday’s adventure with Granger. Mostly, though, he’s trying desperately not to think about Thursday at all.

It’s easier to shut off his thoughts when he’s working, so instead of spending the day at home, mind whirling through possibilities and potential meanings… he’s working with mandrake root and lacewing flies, experimenting while watching over the potions he’d left to brew on Friday. 

At noon an owl flies through the window he’d opened to let the fumes from a potion gone wrong out. He scowls, because how dare anyone try to get in touch with him while he’s trying to be  _ unreachable _ . The shop is open, but he’s  _ not in _ so no one should be…

The owl nips at his knuckle and Draco almost bats at it but he’s better bred than that so he just scowls  _ harder _ . “Al _ right _ .” he says, annoyed, and the owl hops a little and holds out its leg. He takes the letter from it, and shoos it off, watching it go a little absently, his scowl more of a confusedly thoughtful frown, now.

He unrolls the letter, still frowning and reads, before sighing very deeply and dragging a hand over his face; he’s smiling now, though.

On Monday Granger pushes open the door to his work room and settles down  _ on _ his desk.  _ On it. _

“That’s unsanitary and rude.” Draco says, and Granger rolls her eyes but he doesn’t turn to look at her so he doesn’t see it.

“You didn’t respond to my letter Saturday, and the girl up front said you were in on Saturday when she was.” Granger says, and Draco turns to her at that, raising an eyebrow. “Oh don’t, she’s extremely talkative, thinks you’re  _ mysterious and attractive _ in case you were wondering.” She adds, and Draco feels a light flush rush into his cheeks. “I’d steer clear of her, you know, seems a bit like she’ll attack when you least expect it or something.” she says, idle.

If Draco had been paying attention instead of looking away to hide his blush, then he’d probably have seen the little look in her eye, the almost hesitance as she says it like she’s embarrassed to be saying it out loud to him.”Well, I don’t talk to them.” he says, dismissive, waving his hand vaguely toward the door. “They’re incompetent.” He adds, turning to the nearest cauldron to stop the flame beneath it.

“Burnt lacewing flies.” Granger says after a short moment, and Draco is thankful for the subject change if only because it means he doesn’t have to think about his abysmal love life ( _ what about Astoria, dear? She’s from a  _ nice _ family, after all. _ )

“And mandrake root, though I wouldn’t have admitted to it if it weren’t for the fact that you didn’t notice it.” He says, his face showing a look of distinct disappointment, and she laughs.

“Ah, yes, my apologies.” she says, and Draco thinks they must be joking with each other, and that seems…

He sets his chosen phials to filling themselves with the rapidly cooling potion and comes over to pull a small set of notes off the desk from behind her (too close). “Here, based on your note on Saturday, my findings.” he says, and she takes the parchment readily, too at ease so close to him, he thinks. Far too at ease with him in general.

It irks him, how comfortable Granger is with him, because he can’t fathom why she is, or how he’s gotten himself into this mess ( _ “easy, really” ‘flippance doesn’t look good on you, Potter’ _ ).

On Thursday he sees Potter at the cafe down the street and is seen by three distinct people talking to him pleasantly. 

On Friday a Weasley comes in, covered head to toe in mud and asking loudly for the potions master to help him reduce the smell and raise the stickiness.

On Saturday Draco hides in his living room, glaring at the mantle trying to understand how his life came to this, how the 5 years he’d spent trying to be unobtrusive while still fulfilling his need to excel had led him here. 

On Sunday he gets an owl from Granger, or, she signs it just  _ Hermione _ this time, not her full name and title like she’s forgotten she’s not writing a work note. Draco stares at it for 20 minutes before he grabs his cloak and a hat and heads out to the little cafe she’d taken him to, that time they’d spent the whole day doing research instead of actual work.

She’s got a tea for him, and a scone ( _ “a  _ scone _ Granger, really?” ‘Don’t fuss, you’re so gaunt I’m sure you don’t eat’) _ and he doesn’t believe she has the answers she claimed to have in her letter but he doesn’t say so. He doesn’t say so all the rest of the day, because he believes her rather quickly, and then he’s got other things on his mind, like how to expand on what she’s found, and what he needs in order to confirm all of this, what  _ she _ needs.

On Wednesday Potter comes in, hand rubbing at the back of his neck while Draco stares at a display and pretends he hadn’t heard him cough politely. “I’ve been elected to come ask you to attend an interview, of sorts.” Potter says, and Draco turns to him, eyebrow raised.

“And a letter wouldn’t suffice?” He asks, but Potter gives him a look that’s very clear in it’s implications on how Potter believes he’d have reacted to such a letter. “Alright, well, explain.” He says, and Potter smiles, lightning fast and like he doesn’t have cares (it’s painful to see how readily they all smile).

“You know our little side project? For the werewolves?” Potter asks, fingers reaching out to play with a crystal phial that’s just a little askew, Draco dampens the urge to stop him. “Well, we’re in need of a full-time potions master for a side endeavor related to it, how do you feel about that?”

Draco is quiet as he takes it in, the elation and strange excitement bubbling through him hidden behind a look of slight disinterest (but there’s color rising in his cheeks, and he knows Potter can read him fairly well despite  _ everything _ ). “I feel like you’re being a little hasty, truthfully.” He says, and Potter laughs, shaking his head, and turns for the door. 

“On Thursday,  _ Draco. _ ” He says, leaving with a grin on his face.

Despite everything, and everything is, in fact, just every dumb argument he’s ever made against Potter, Granger, the Weasleys… Despite everything he’s trying to pretend still matters but absolutely doesn’t, he meets Potter ( _ Harry _ ), the Minister for Magic (oh God, why him?), and Granger. On Thursday.

“You did lovely, it was all a formality, of course, so that we could get the proper funding, but even so…” Granger says, smiling at him from the seat beside him at the pub she and Potter ( _ Harry _ ) had dragged him to.

“You’re extremely flattering.” Draco says, dry and drawling, giving  _ Harry _ a look across the table that has the man snorting softly, amused, into his drink. “I just hope you two know what you’re doing, I’m leaving a perfectly good job for this, this  _ potential _ .” He says.

It’s difficult, he thinks as they laugh amused and loud at him, because he’s doing something that is not necessarily guaranteed. He’s leaving a pretty good position for one that may or may not lead to anything except possibly… possibly he will get recognition, better standing in the wizarding world, but it’s not guaranteed.

“Come on, Draco, drink up!” Granger says, and it brings him back because she’s said his name, and that’s…

On Saturday morning, over brunch, he tells his mother about his new job. She’s quiet, prim and tight-lipped, and he considers her for a moment before deciding she’s withholding judgement to decide if  _ he _ is happy or not. 

“It will be a good change, the Minister was present, gave the sign off.” He adds, and his mother’s lips twitch up a little, and she’s on his side.

“Miss Granger asked for you, yes?” She prompts, later, after the conversation is well done and so is brunch. “She’s a powerful…  _ friend _ to have.” She says, and Draco closes his eyes, counts to 5 quietly, and then shakes his head.

On Monday, Draco starts to clear out all of his personal things from the workroom, another place being set up for him as he finishes out his time here. 

On Friday he moves everything to his new workplace, taking a moment to look around at the well-appointed rooms he’s been given to work in. It’s not a traditional  _ shop, _ really, and it’ll be need to know, the nature of their endeavor requires it. 

Draco feels giddy again, a light, airy feeling bubbling up from inside at the prospect of this new position. It was going to be better for him, for his family, for his relationships…

On Monday Draco starts with the Wolfsbane potion, has a week before it will be needed. He’s got space, now, for all of his notes, every theoretical he’s worked out with Granger that could help someone, or some _ thing _ in their own spot on one of his walls, in one of his areas. All of his personal research notes, questions in another area.

Granger stops in everyday, a few minutes here, an hour there. It’s strange, at first, because she’s not the only one, Po-Harry stops in, and Minister Shacklebolt at some point that first day. But he focuses on Granger, on  _ Hermione _ . She’s all-consuming. She sits on his desks and his tables. She re-organizes his notes and lists to be more to her own liking.

He’s fixing a set of notes on a Tuesday a couple months later, that she had color-coded, frowning at it like it truly upset him when it really didn’t (you think it’s cute that she does this,  _ which is ridiculous she’s grown _ ), when Weasley comes in, the youngest one.

“Malfoy.” She says, nodding to him, and he looks up briefly, frowns at her, and looks back down. “Hermione said you’d have a modified wolfsbane for a child…” It’s a leading type of question, like she doesn’t want to admit yet that he’s as useful as  _ Hermione _ clearly believes he is.

“On the bottom shelf to your right.” He says, dragging his finger over a note colored a rather putrid shade of green and trying to puzzle out  _ why _ it’s that color. “Bottle like a small dog.” He adds when she’s quiet for longer than a few moments.

Weasley is quiet for just a moment longer, picking up the bottle with a soft smile on her face, before coming up beside him. “Anything special I should tell the parents?” She asks, and he looks up at her, expression a little softer.

“Well, you’ll need more than that, won’t you?” He says, tone still a little sharp, “But you can tell them that the directions are under the cap, and that they must be followed to the T.” He looks back down at his notes, and really this is a distraction now, because it’s strange to be on vaguely friendly terms with these people. “I’ve managed to make it last so it doesn’t have to be fresh-brewed, but that doesn’t mean that anything else can be less than letter perfect.” 

She’s quiet for a beat, and he can feel that she’s slightly amused by him, or something. “Thank you, Malfoy.” She says, and it’s softer, kinder, and he quietly reminds her to take another bottle, and he doesn’t notice but she leaves more than requested in the donation jar.

On Thursday he has to admit that he’s a little taken with Hermione Granger.

On Saturday he spends 3 hours thinking about that, wonders why he’d come to that conclusion, decides against it, and then has to admit  _ again _ that he truly likes her.

On Monday Hermione stops in late in the afternoon with stacks of paperwork and take out, and his heart flutters in his chest and he’s both disgusted with the sentiment but also can’t deny he feels it.

On Wednesday he formally invites Hermione Jean Granger out to dinner on Friday, and she declines. She’s already promised to an event with Harry, she tells him, but if it’s out early she’ll drop in.

On Friday Draco tries not to be bitter that he’d tried and failed, but it’s very hard not to be when honestly… honestly he really shouldn’t have thought she’d want to spend time with him that wasn’t-

“So I’m busy tonight but because of that exact same  _ event _ I’ve been kicked out of the office and Harry and Ron are  _ insufferable _ so I’m spending the day with you instead.” Hermione says, a stack of fresh parchment floating in beside her, three books flying out of her bag to settle on an empty table. “I know it’s not dinner, but you don’t have anything booked to brew today, so I thought we could…”

And for once Draco notices. Hermione’s not made of stone, she’s full of emotion, which he’d always known. But it’s more than that, really, he can see the hesitance, the small moment of ‘ _ oh merlin have I overstepped? Am I putting too much in? Am  _ I  _ too much? _ ’ It’s refreshing, it’s comforting, and Draco wonders, not for the first time around her or her friends, if he’s a bad person for being happy when they show a small amount of weakness.

He’s too happy that she wants to spend time with him to make fun of her, though.”No, you’re right, I was just going to do a little research, make some more lists…”

“You make terrible lists, it’s a wonder you ever scored well on your exams, you know that? Is this how you revised in school?” She asks, stalking over to one of his many sets of notes. “It’s rubbish.” She says, and his cheeks go a little red, and he’s both amused and offended, and… and that’s what he likes about her.

They’re  _ Daily Prophet _ official on a Thursday, and his mother sends him three owls and Pansy and Blaise both stop by (slinking, ashamed, and maybe this will be good for them, maybe they’ll be able to help more people) to find out what’s going on.

They’re married on a Tuesday, months and months later, right after Hermione puts in her bid for the position that will catapult her into the running for the position of Minister for Magic, and it’s possibly the best day of Draco’s life.

“I’m disgusted, they’re  _ weeping. _ ” Draco says, sniffing lightly as if he’s truly offended. Harry laughs and shakes his head.

“They’re mourning the fact their daughter’s marrying a slimeball like  _ you _ .” he says, and Draco scowls at him.

It’s while dancing with his mother that he realizes he’s never been happier, and it’s while bowing politely to his new in-laws that he wonders why he’s so surprised.

Hermione slips her arm through his at the end of the night, as he’s watching people leave. “Can’t call me  _ Granger _ all the time now, can you?” She asks, teasing, and he rolls his eyes.

“Granger-Malfoy doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.” He says, dry, amused. “Though I think I can get away with just  _ Granger _ , you know? Short-hand.” and she nudges him playfully, amused and happy, and he’s smiling, warm and pleased and never happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually done now ^^ Hopefully this means my brain can move onto holiday themed fics!

**Author's Note:**

> This is only multi-chapter because I can't manage to end it, haha.


End file.
